Dead Like My Pet
by Merkmon
Summary: We've seen the normal Reapers and how they work and live, but what about the children? We explore a newly UnDead pet Reaper and the world on the fringes of society through their young, but still cynical and regretful, eyes.


_Hey. This is the first story I've ever written that's a fanfiction, so expect lots of new characters, but don't worry, I'll definitely get this thing back over to the DLM cast. Also, I want you all to critique the shit out of this thing! I need all the criticism I can get if I want to get better. Hope you enjoy! _

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My name is Lou Glock. I'm ten and a half, and I suppose my story begins with where this shitty chain of events really all started from; my dog, a German Shepard named Houdini.

He was just a little puppy when I first saw him, and honestly, I wasn't all that interested in him. He had been my older brother Tyler's present for his tenth birthday, and my sister Caitlin, being eight, loved him, but I was only four, and could be damaged by him. Plus, I wasn't really allowed near any of Tyler's things, or he'd hit me, and I believed it applied to the dog too.

For the next few days, everything was about the little puppy that didn't have a name. Tyler couldn't think of one that he didn't find vicious enough, hated all the girly names Caitlin thought up, and refused to let Mom and Dad help him with one. Dad had put in a doggy door, seeing as he was potty trained and needed to go outside a lot. See, we lived next to a woods, so when the puppy went missing, the rest of the family rushed off into the trees. Sitting me on the porch, Mom points in my face and tells me sternly not to leave the yard, and sets off in search of the lost dog. My short attention span ran out after five minutes of hearing all of them shout, "Puppy! Here, Puppy!" and I crawl under the porch, behind a shrub and loose piece of wood, into my spot that I never told anyone about. Technically, it was the crawl space, but there was a spot near the back of the house where grass grew that I claimed as my own after winning every game of hide and seek my siblings were forced to include me in sitting there.

Lo and behold, as I scoot to the grassy knoll, there sits the puppy. He seemed to have simply fallen asleep, waking up and licked my face as I sat next to him. Both of us crawl out and I call to my family in the woods, who are all mad at the scare he gave them.

"Is he okay?" Dad asked worriedly.

"Houdini's fine," I replied, those two words just popping out. Thus, the puppy became Houdini. At first, him finding my hiding spot made me mad as well, but the next time we played hide and seek, he crawled in after me and stayed completely silent. Seeing that he followed me when they gave up, Caitlin and Tyler tried again and again to get Houdini to lead them to my secret spot, but he never gave it up. Soon, he grew into a dog and became more annoying to everyone else. Instead of following anyone else around, he followed me and me alone.

In fights over the years, Tyler never failed to bring up the fact that he got Houdini for his birthday, trying to get the edge, but we all knew that he had become my dog and would always be mine. I took over feeding him, walking him, and watching out for him, as he would watch out for me. Everyone regarded him as a background item, but I always gave my undivided attention to him, as he would to me. I don't regret this in any way, even if it led to…well, we'll get to that. Let's start this at the morning before it happened.

It was Saturday, and I had plans to go to the park and try out my new skateboard. Tyler's seventeenth birthday had been about a month ago and he had gotten a new board and had let me have his old one. After pulling on some faded jeans, my gray short sleeved hoodie, black and frayed sneakers, and my pale green bucket hat; I grabbed the board and shot out the door, Houdini on my heels. I brought his leash and hooked him up, letting him roll me down the street. Making to the park, I tried some tricks and after falling a lot, I managed to nail a nice Ollie. That's when Dustin Tweed and his gang showed up.

"What's up Rusty?" Dustin called in a bad surfer accent, his posse chuckling at the name. See, at school, I didn't really have kids that I could call my friends. At best, any of them were acquaintances, and seeing as I was getting A's with little effort, I was seen as a bit intimidating, not counting giggling girls who thought I was cute, of course. Dustin had moved here near the end of third grade and was barely passing enough to move on, not to mention he was a complete sociopath in training. The rumor was going around that he was going to be held back and he had simply picked me as a nice target of mocking and bullying to vent his rage. Sadly, the best name he could come up with was Rusty said with a surfer accent, because of my rusty-brown eyes and dirty blonde beach hair. Squealing to a stop next to Houdini, I give him a deadpanned stare.

"Howdy Tweedle-Dum. How are you and your flock of idiots today?" I call back to them. Their smirks drop and Dustin comes forward and gives me a hard shove, sending me to the ground. Instantly, Houdini growls and jumps in front of me. Just as fast, Dustin backs off and snarls out a cuss.

"Ya know, if you didn't have that damn dog with ya all the time, I'd beat your ass so hard!" he threatened. Now, something always rubbed me the wrong way about anybody, but I was smart enough to know that I should keep them to myself, less I get the shit kicked out of me. Right there with Dustin and his moron friends, my common sense was replaced by my sarcasm and the insult just popped out.

"Bet you'd really enjoy that, huh Dustin? Beating my ass?" I snap out mindlessly. The jab had hit a nerve as he charged forward, kicking Houdini in the chest and snagging my shirt, slamming me back on the ground, my head cracking against the cement, sending sparks across my eyes.

"You fucking ever call me a fag again, I'll shoot your fucking brains out with a goddamn-"he hisses in my face.

"Yeah, yeah, real original," I hiss back, "Gonna shoot a Glock with a Glock, real fucking original Tweedle-Dum." At this point, his gang was pulling him off me, because the bullied are assumed to be tattletales and they didn't want to get into trouble. Since I had a brain, I knew telling was like asking Dustin to serve me my entrails on a platter.

Huffing and red faced, Dustin left with a "fag" and a flip of the middle finger, but something had struck me in our fight. When the old mock had come out of my mouth, a strange sense of déjà vu had surged through me, a foreboding feeling left in its wake like a rock in my stomach. Rubbing the back of my head, I look to see if Houdini was fine, but he wasn't in sight. Whipping my head around, I barely see him rounding the corner.

"Houdini!" I shout after him, "Houdini, come back!" Taking off after him, I wonder what he was running after, the fight and its details already faded from my mind. He slowly gains more ground on me, leading me all over the neighborhood until I rounded another corner and couldn't see him at all. Spotting a girl on the old stone bridge in front of me, I run up to her. She's staring out at the water, her eyes distant. Tapping her on the shoulder, she turns to face me.

Her clothes were old and ragged looking, her black hair pulled into a ponytail. I thought she might be homeless. There weren't a lot here in Rogerston, but she didn't have a clean look.

"Yeah?" she questioned. Her teeth, on the other hand, were perfect and white, which was a bit odd. So was her voice; it sounded so adult. But, there was more time to think on that later.

"Did you see a dog run by here?" I ask, "he was a German Shepard, his name's Houdini and-,"

"Are you-?" she pauses and looks at something she pulled from her pocket real quick, then shoves it back in, "-L. Glock then?" I give her a look.

"Lou, yeah, look, did you see him?" I ask again, weirded out now.

"Yeah, he ran past here and went down by the banks," she replies. I sigh in relief and start to turn away.

"Thanks," I say and start towards the banks, but she catches my shoulder.

"Wait!" she says, "I hope you find him, but be careful." As she says this, she brushes her hand down my arm, leaving a strange tingling at the contact.

"Uh, yeah, see ya around," I respond, heading to the banks, but I send her a look over my shoulder. She catches my eye and smiles, adding a wave. Something squirms in my stomach and heats my face and, unfortunately, sends me tumbling down the banks, landing on the rock covered river shore.

Standing up and going under the bridge, I call his name one more time and see a lump on the rocks. Horrified, I run up to Houdini's body, his ears bloody and eyes thankfully closed. Dropping to his side, I feel tears well up in my eyes.

"I shall save the innocent ones."

Turning my head at the voice, I look up as well.

Now, you don't have a last name like mine without wondering about its meaning. I looked up pictures of a Glock and I know what it looks like. I don't see the guys face, but I know that a silencer is nestled on the bridge of my nose. Exactly two seconds pass between the point I realize what's going to happen and when he pulls the trigger. All that I do is mutter two little words.

"Oh shit."

_Swoosh!_

On Saturday, May 20th, 2006 at 12:48 P.M., I died under a stone bridge in Rogerston, Illinois at the hand of my last name.

Irony is a bitch.


End file.
